


You as the cook must bring soul to the recipe

by Two_Divided_by_Zero



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Dont do what Yusuke does, Futaba and Yusuke my BrOTP, Futaba is the eternal wingman, M/M, Phone drabbles, Pining, They are terrible cooks, Yusuke has a crush, cooking fails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:20:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Two_Divided_by_Zero/pseuds/Two_Divided_by_Zero
Summary: Yusuke is an artist, not a baker. Futaba is a hacker and former shut in, not a cook.Neither is entirely certain how a kitchen works except that a microwave is not the magical cooking implement Yusuke believes it to be.





	You as the cook must bring soul to the recipe

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and unproofread.  
> Still accepting drabble prompts  
> For goodness sakes DO NOT REPLICATE ANY OF THIS. ALL OF IT IS BASED ON FACT.
> 
> To the one who requested this....enjoy? :D

“I can't believe Sojiro actually trusted you with his cafe.”

Yusuke sighed, continuing to whisk the chocolate mix in its bowl. The recipe said to add three cups of baking soda, right? Or was it flour…?

They're both powder, it likely doesn't matter that much.

“So you've said somewhere over thirty times at this point, Futaba. In fact, I believe you and Mona could be serious competition for who is a greater broken record at this point. Though...does the microwave normally smoke like that?”

Futaba froze on her bar stool before adopting a serious face. “Wait, Sojiro owns a microwave?”

The questionably-existent microwave sat inn the back towards the stove, now spewing a thick, black smoke. Briefly, Yusuke held his fingers up; the viscosity of the smoke and the shadows left on the kitchen would make a _lovely_ charcoal-

“Inari! Get your mind off Akira's ass before you burn his house down!”

“ _Excuse you_ -!”

“Smoke! Fire!” Futaba vaulted the counter (which would have shocked Yusuke more under normal situations at how agile she was for a shut-in) before slapping him in the face. “FIX THIS!”

With a quick plea to Goemon for safety, Yusuke took a deep breath before venturing into the ever-expanding blackness. His eyes stung, his nose burned and Yusuke could feel tears beginning to leak from the corners of his eyes by the time he managed to yank the microwave door open.

A veritable flood of thick, black smoke plumed up. Instinctually, he dropped to the floor and covered his nose and mouth with his shirt.

In the meantime, Futaba must have had the clarity of mind to open all doors and windows because the smoke dissipated quickly. She eventually reappeared, more than slightly harried looking and glared at him crouched on,the ground. “You know I'm not above literally kicking you while you're down, Inari.”

With as much poise as possible, Yusuke rose and dusted himself off; his eyes never left the traitorous microwave for an instant. “Only an idiot would doubt that.”

“Well, _Inari_...” she trailed off and tapped her foot, giving him a slow once-over. Soot-covered and sweaty…

“Okay, fair assessment.”

“What were you even…?” she queried while gently prying the door open further. She stared at the mug inside, a bomb squad member at ground zero. Other than the glaze being slightly...yellower...than before, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Inside the mug though…

“Inari.”

“Yes.”

“What poor existence deserved to die such an undignified death?”

Sometimes, Yusuke wishes he had an app that would translate her speak to common Japanese. Such an app would likely be expensive though… “What do you mean?”

She sighed before taking a nearby skewer and prodding the...mass...within the mug. “What in the world was this before you murdered it?”

Oh. “Eight ounces of chocolate.”

“....Chocolate?”

“....Yes?”

“Don't answer a question with question, fox boy.”

She continued to pick at the blackened mass, no doubt trying to justify in her head how chocolate could be transformed into...well…

“The recipe said to melt the chocolate,” Yusuke chirped from over her shoulder, observing the burnt result, “how does one melt chocolate if not in the microwave?”

“Inari…” Futaba cooed and took his arm, leading him from the crime scene. “Why are you doing this?”

Well, that was was easy. “I'm making sweets for Akira.”

Apparently, Futaba was not expecting that answer. She reeled backwards clutching her heart as though shot. It was so genuine Yusuke actually reached out to steady her. “Are you-?”

“Oh my god, you're trying to court him!”

Yusuke cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Well yes, that was the plan.”

Eyes wide as saucers, Futaba collapsed into a booth. “The plan… You had a plan to seduce our leader and you,” she gesticulated at all of him in a rather confusing gesture,”didn't either bother trying to deny it!”

With Futaba seated, Yusuke decided that he would need to continue on with,this project on his own. He pulled back out his slightly cocoa smudged recipe and squinted. “Am I supposed to deny it?”

Flabbergasted. The only word that fit how Futaba felt was flabbergasted. “Well, most people would pull some coy, ‘well I like him as a friend’s ploy-!”

“I am attracted to him romantically,” he intoned without looking up from the list of measurements, “and I don't see the point in denying it. Even if I am rejected, it is worth it so long as he knows that he is a wonderful person worthy of admiration.”

“...Do you think he's sexy?”

Instantly. “Naturally.”

Yusuke briefly looked up in concern at a loud thud. Futaba had apparently decided to smack her forehead into the booth. While mildly concerned over the red now marring her face, he was under a time limit. Akira would finish his shift at the flower shop in an hour and they had little to nothing done.

“Inari…”

Two scrambled eggs? That sounded time consuming. Maybe he could just shake them and - “yes?”

“Just when I think I might _finally_ understand you, you do something so completely brainless and...how did you even survive all these years?”

It took a gentle touch, but Yusuke managed to find a way to cradle each egg and shake them gently. Gently, gently…. “I lived in the atelier. We didn't actually have food all that often, so none of us were particularly good cooks.”

While she was distracted giving him puppy-dog eyes of pity, Yusuke managed to get the eggs into the microwave. Now…

One minute was definitely not enough time; the eggs needed to be cooked. Three minutes? Five minutes? Is there such a thing as over cooking? Eggs couldn't light on fire, so…

Ten minutes it is.

Futaba had apparently been busy responding to some stupid meme Ryuji had sent when,her ears perked. “Tell me I don't hear the microwave…”

Alright. “You don't hear the microwave.”

“No no no, what did you-?!”

And that was when two identical pops sounded out and the glass of the microwave covered in a viscous...glop.

“...You know, that almost sounded like gun fire-”  
“Inari.”

“Yes.”

“Shut up.”

\---

When Akira came home later that evening, Morgana howling in his ears, he definitely wasn't expecting the sight that met him.

An odd smoke hung through the air, mysterious powders covered the counter and the entire building reeked of… of….

“Why does it smell like a sweatshop in here?”

Ahh, bless Morgana and his lack of tact at times; he said the things most people were too polite to voice. The anonymity of being a cat seemed to have many benefits.

From the corner booth, Futaba made her presence known and stomped up. Her hair was white with flour and she had a determined scowl on her face. “That's a great question, Mona. Why don't we leave Inari to explain his idiocy and you spend the night trolling diamond players on voice chat tonight?”

With that, Akira's bag was swiped and both were out the door before Morgana could even meow.

Never one to shy away, Yusuke stepped forward. Even his hair had a dusting of white, though he was also covered in a splashed of off yellow…

Akira didn't want to consider it too much. “Wha-?”

“Ann told me that when you have romantic interest in someone, you give them sweets.”

Akira's stomach gave a nauseous flop. “You’re-?”

“I wanted to bake you a cake and Futaba promised to help. Unfortunately, neither of us is apparently suited for baking.”

Still a little dumbfounded, Akira blinked stupidly. “You wanted to bake me a cake?”

Yusuke nodded, stepping through a mysterious puddle on the floor to take Akira's hand in his own. (Akira thanked his high charm and guts from recoiling; the artist's hands were rather sticky and repulsive.)

“So rather than a cake, I'm swearing to you to clean this entire kitchen if you'll date me. Say yes and I'll pull out the kitchen cleanser right now.”

“I hope you have two sets of gloves.”

“Wha?”

Yusuke was cut off with a sweet peck and an exasperated smile. “Not the most conventional confession, is it? You're lucky you're cute.”

It took a moment for everything to catch up to Yusuke. Akira took great delight in watching the shy pink diffuse his face. “S-so…”

“You promised to clean, lover boy,” Akira teased, “so get on your knees and start scrubbing.”

Silently, obediently, Yusuke knelt down and began rubbing at a spot of oil with a rag. The pink had yet to leave his face.

Later, reeking of pine cleaner and disinfectant, he recounted the story of the exploding eggs. Luckily, his boyfriend was there to kiss the shameful blush off his cheeks.

In between laughter, of course.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, my dears! As always, your kind words and kudos keep me going.
> 
> If I at least made you chuckle, please let me know!
> 
> And if you want your own phone drabble, make a request ;D


End file.
